Nshan Abasyan

I am Telling You

Today you are more disgusting than ever.
You are ignorant and braggart.
You are naked and wretched.
You hate obedience
and lick your vassal’s feet.
You’ve been deceived, fool!
There’s litter in your plate.
You’re not pure-blooded.
You sneer your God.
You envy your savior.
You sell your wife,coward!

Do not say – I am christian,you are ridiculous.
Do not be proud of your Komitas:
you only know his name.
Do not testify your Toumanyan:
you’ve disavowed him.
Do not speak of your glorious past:
you’ve never had it.

Silent, slave, silent!


Nothing has changed
in the world,
everything is the same!

Not a single
iron song is heard.



There was a sumptuous feast at the palace…Everybody was eating.
Huddled up in a shady corner of the huge hall, a child was soundlessly crying. It was apparent that he was offended and quitted, left alone. None of the feast-makers took hid of the child: everybody was eating.
At last, someone approached him.
– What’s your name, kid?-said the man in a calm voice.
-Truth,- replied the child wiping his tearful eyes with his tiny hands.



-All the verities are born through talks.
-And do all the talks give birth to verities?
-Certainly they do, if they are frank.
-What is frankness?
-Frankness is when you extremely love your interlocutor. Then the heart of your dia-logue comes to be dia-auditing.
-But there often occur heartless dialogues…
-…And the verity passes by, laughing at the silliness of interlocutors.
– Or crying from that merciless silliness…
– What a pity that people ceased listening to each other…!


The spirit of poets is dead in the city,
the city has no poets…
The swamp of renunciation at the lips of days,
by what song the garden should be fed…?


The Seasons of the Year


My dog is cheerfully running about, softly rolling on the snow: he might be thinking of the snowflakes thumping on his nose as of playfellows…


Having pulled its tiny hand out of the cradle, the sun is a baby…


My old dog, his head on the paws, is looking impassively at the passerby…


It is raining…

Dedicating to Tatevik Aghababyan
16 November, 2011


The Exile

Adam and Eve looked at each other and looked,they turned away and were leaving dumbly…
-Wait!-He called anew.
With two unusual leaves in his hands, He approached, looked…
Then He was clothing Adam…And Adam was handsome…
Then He was covering Eve’s nudity… And Eve resembled the dawn…
Then He said:
-At some distance from the obstruction there is another garden: you are settling down there: do not move further.

17 July, 2010


* * *
The sun rose,
evenly passed along the firmament
and patiently set…

How marvelous it is,
How affectionate…

26 May, 2011


* * *
In the rain the tree is swishing, swishing:
The verdure’s so heart- torturing…

28 April, 2012

* * *
It is a tacit noon!
and from the extended hem of the monk
cherries are dropping on the sand…

22 February, 2012

* * *
On red cliffs sunny and naive silence is steadily lasting …
There a floweret is, on the stony roadside…
A road of pilgrimage…

3 June, 2012


Translated  by` Nona Margaryan

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